“Oh I’m in,” I said at the mention of the Haitian restaurant he’d taken me to when we’d gone a few months back. “Just tell me the dates and I’ll take the time, I can get away for a couple of days next month. Besides, I didn’t get nearly enough food and beach time when we were there in February.”

Patrice was on fire for the project at work and was also doing more with some of the community organizations he’d gotten involved with over the last year. He was already a big part of the activism in the area, and I was so fucking proud of him.

“Day got back from his trip.”

Patrice grunted at the mention of the sheriff. “Oh.” Day was not exactly on his favorite people list, but the sheriff had been making some bold moves over the past six months to address the issues in his department. Including a trip to a national gathering of law enforcement leaders trying to address systemic racism at a local level.

“He came back with all kinds of ideas, and is rolling out the anti-racism mandatory training in the department. He’s gotten some resistance, but he seems committed.”

“He’s trying,” Patrice conceded. “I hope he sticks with it, because the pushback is not going to relent.”

I nodded at his matter-of-fact tone. He ran a hand over my arm again and rested it by mine on the page.

“First question, counselor. As a couple, we’re good at—”

I tried very hard not to burst out laughing, and when I looked up saw a matching knowing grin on my boyfriend’s face.

“Well that’s an easy one, sex. We are excellent at fucking.” He nodded soberly at my words as I giggled.

“We’re on the gifted and talented track for that for sure. But we’re also good at cooking together, and last-minute weekend getaways,” he said, and I heard the awe that sometimes tinged his words when he talked about us, the life that we were slowly building together.

I took the dark brown hand, which was a study of hardness and softness, and brought it up so I could kiss the roughened palm. “I love cooking together and I love our little romantic getaways. I also love how well our families get along.”

“I like that too,” he said firmly. My father was still an asshole for the most part, but Patrice got along great with my mother, sister and grandpa. And Patrice’s mom and stepdad were so fun to hang out with. We were now fully in each other’s lives.

I looked down at the second question and raised an eyebrow. “Uh oh, next one is tough.” When I glanced at him, his face said, bring it on.

“What are our weaknesses? As a couple.”